


Out of Fashion

by Lightspeed



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Clothing, Fashion & Couture, Fluff, M/M, Men's Wear, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Intent on going out to a nice dinner with his lovers, Spy is stymied by their complete lack of fashion sense, and concept of appropriate dress.  He has to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Fashion

“You cannot be serious. Please, please, tell me you are not serious with,” Spy waved his hand in the general direction of his lovers, “this.”

“What do ya mean?” Engineer asked, taken aback by his lover's disgust. He thought he looked rather dapper.

“What's wrong?” Sniper echoed, similarly surprised.

“Where shall I start?” Spy asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose, then throwing his arms into the air for maximum dramatic effect. “Where _can_ I start?”

Before the Frenchman stood, in his eyes, pure disasters. His handsome lovers, men of sinew and muscle, bold lines and harsh angles, stood in what they had assumed were perfectly appropriate outfits to wear to dinner. They couldn't have been more wrong.

Engineer stood there in a western shirt, khaki with a white yoke and black piping, roses and paisley as the pattern of choice. Mother-of-pearl buttons fastened the shirt and closed its twin breast pockets. Around his neck, a bolo tie fastened with a silver clasp rounded out the horror, in combination with a pair of dark blue jeans and cowboy boots. A white stetson sat proudly atop his head, completing the look of a man who had never left Texas, and knew nothing of polite society outside of a private box at the rodeo.

Sniper was no better. His shirt, a white tee that hugged his shape tightly, while pleasant to look at on his slim frame, was lascivious at best, considering the outing they'd planned. Atop it, he wore a black leather motorcycle jacket, his hands tucked into the pockets. His pants, --jeans, of course-- were faded, stained in some areas, and had been worn completely through at the knees. The hem was nicked and shredded, and beneath it, Spy could see that he, too, was wearing boots. His akubra was present as always, paired with his sunglasses to present the image of a man who had never been in a restaurant classier than a twenty-four hour diner in his life.

“Sniper, cher, why?” Spy struggled for a moment to even begin to ask, and gave up promptly turning to Engineer. “Mon petit ours, you I expected so much better of. But this? You look like you have stepped out of a Roy Rogers film. And what are those?” he asked, pointing at his lover's trousers.

“Jeans?”

“Jeans. You are wearing blue jeans to a dinner?”  
  
“These are my good dress jeans,” Engineer explained, feeling a bit foolish from the Frenchman's reactions.

“Good. Dress. Jeans.” Spy stared at him blankly, uncomprehending, appalled and horrified. He wheeled around, cradling his face in his hands, a growl of frustration welling from his throat.

“Listen, Spook, we didn't think you'd--” Sniper began, cut off when their lover turned on his heel to stare at them imperiously, composure back in the blink of an eye.

“It does not matter. The two of you are disastrous. Mon chasseur, you are wearing things I would see fit only on a man at a specific kind of bar looking for a specific kind of meal, one that would fill not his belly, but perhaps his mouth, if you understand.” The rogue grinned, eyeing up Sniper like a predator does his prey. “While you, mon petit ours, well, you undo yourself with these trappings of a time long past, of fashion that should have been left in the last century.” He tapped at Engineer's hat playfully, tipping it up and giving him a teasing smile. “But this hat does suit you, I will give you that.”

“So what, then, we're not good enough to come out to dinner with you?” Sniper groused, put-out.

“Hardly. There is no company I would rather have, than the handsome men I love,” Spy reasoned, a genuine smile melting the impish streak that had claimed his lips for a time. “But we will have to do something about all of,” he waved his hand in the general direction of his lovers, “this.”

 

*

 

It had been little surprise to either of his partners that Spy had an expansive collection of suits and formal wear. It had been, however, a little shocking, that he had not only such clothing in his own dimensions, but those of each member of the team, in case of the necessity of a formal disguise. It had been, then, simply a matter of picking out the right items, and wrestling his lovers into them. Standing back to admire his handiwork, however, Spy found the hassle all the more worth it.

Engineer and Sniper stood before him, admiring each other, impressed that either of them could look as they did. They wore perfectly-tailored dark grey linen trousers, belted in fine, supple black leather with small, sleek, steel buckles. Their shirts were white silk, crisp and starched, with long sleeves rolled up to the elbows and properly cuffed to stay in place, showing off the warm, hair-clad skin of their forearms. Sniper wore a tie, royal blue silk tied in a Windsor knot, while Engineer went without, the top button of his shirt left undone, but instead wore a dark grey waistcoat to match his trousers. Each wore black socks and shining, immaculate dress shoes. Their hats were gone, as were Sniper's sunglasses, cast to the four winds, or more accurately, the depths of Spy's closet until the rogue could be sure they would not be retrieved until long after dinner. He would tolerate no sneaking of unfashionable accessories on his watch.

“What do you think?” Spy asked, gesturing to the floor-length mirror that sat in the corner of his quarters, a self-satisfied smile on his lips.

His lovers approached it and appraised their reflections slowly, wide-eyed. They looked surprised, or horrified. Spy couldn't be sure of which, but he wasn't sure he liked the reaction he was seeing.

“Spy,” Engineer began, tugging a little at his waistcoat, amazed at the accuracy of its fit. “This is--”  
  
“You don't like it.”

“You kidding?” Sniper countered, eyeing himself up, turning to look over his shoulder at the outline of his backside in his trousers. “'Course we bloody like it! This is literally the most high-class I've ever looked in me life! And Truckie here,” he leered at his shortest partner, “'e's rather fetching, inn't 'e?”

“I gotta admit, Darlin', you do fine work. Almost make Stretch here look dignified! And I do like this vest.”

Spy beamed, approaching his lovers, wrapping an arm around each as he looked at the three of them in the mirror, the picture of masculine elegance. “You are both so handsome, you wear it well, mes amours.” His smile darkened, taking on a predatory edge as his hands slid down, cupping the linen-clad bottoms of each man. “And if you are both good, and continue to look presentable through dinner, then I will reward you by undressing you just as carefully as I have dressed you.”

Engineer and Sniper shared a look in the mirror, fading quickly into a pair of smirks. The Australian spoke, an arm snaking around their smaller lover. “And in the meantime, you're going to have to control yourself around all of,” he ran his hands over the American's body, cupping at his groin and capturing his lips in a rough, hungry kiss, full of snarls and grunting, making the Frenchman step back and watch. He licked his lips, committing the sight to memory with furious need. Their kiss parted, and Sniper waved his hand in the general direction of himself and Engineer, “this.”

**Author's Note:**

> requested by tumblr user happybraindeath


End file.
